


Sleepless in Saint Marie

by misaffection



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 03, Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-27 01:13:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1709585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since returning to Saint Marie, Richard's been suffering from insomnia, though he can't figure out why. Everything's fine... isn't it?</p><p>Post Season 2. Completely ignores the canon events of S3.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepless in Saint Marie

Richard had suffered sleeplessness before; pre-exam jitters back at university, concerns about a case the night prior to a court hearing, even worries about flying over to Saint Marie. However, he'd never gone for so long on so little sleep, and he'd started wondering at what the cause could be. That had led to looking up insomnia on the internet, and _that_ had given him a whole new list of things to be worrying about.

He knew it wasn't down to psychoactive drugs. Or restless leg syndrome, or gastrointestinal issues. And while there had been somewhat of an active period at work with three murders, an attempted sexual assault, and a series of muggings, he was under no more stress than usual. However, dismissing what it could be only left two things – what it definitely _couldn't_ be, such as the onset of menstruation or menopause, and what it _might_ be.

In Richard Poole's world, “might” was a word full of terrifying possibilities.

Unable to sleep, he left his cabin for a walk on the beach. It was after midnight, and the island was eerily quiet – even the birds were silent at this time. There was the sound of water washing up over the sand, and the slight breeze through the fronds of palms trees, but nothing else. It was peaceful. _Serene._ Exactly the sort of atmosphere recommended to encourage rest. So why couldn't he settle?

He stopped far short of where the wavelets left a wet line in the sand, and looked out over the ocean. Foam topped the waves further out, glowing in the moonlight. A hundred thousand stars glittered on the undulating surface so it seemed like a ribbon of sparkling fabric fluttering in a breeze. He breathed in the scent of salt and damp sand and the faint woodiness of the trees behind him, then sighed out.

The slightest sound caught his attention. He turned and saw a figure walking towards him. It was far too dark to see who, but still he knew. There were little tell-tale things that clued him in; like the fact the person walked in the surf, the way their hips swayed at each step, and the vaguest hint of flowers carried on the breeze. Richard smiled into the dark and waited.

“Camille,” he said when she got closer. A moonbeam tangled in the chaotic curls of her hair and brushed the side of her face. “You're up late.”

“Says you.” She tilted her head, one hand on her hip. His lips twitched at the sight of her shoes dangling from her fingers. “Can't sleep?”

“No.” Richard looked out at the ocean again. “It's... becoming a habit.”

Camille stepped closer. She wore a sleeveless blouse over knee-length trousers, their colours washed out to greys in the gloom. “How much of a habit?” she asked, concern thickening her French accent.

“I'm getting two or three hours a night. Have been for a couple of weeks now.”

“So that's why you've been more irritable lately.” Camille nodded to herself. “Have you seen the doctor about it?”

“The doctor will prescribe pills. I don't want to take pills. Anyway, it doesn't class as acute yet. I've another two weeks before I need to be overly concerned.”

“You cannot self-diagnose using Wikipedia,” she sighed. Then she gave him a searching look. “Is something troubling you, Richard? I know things have been busy at work, but you usually thrive on that.”

He shook his head. “There's nothing I can pin down. I feel fine. Not stressed, not depressed.”

“Not homesick?”

There was a slight intensity to that question that took him by surprise. He glanced at her. He knew his interpersonal skills were sometimes lacking, however he'd been working at them, and reading up on understanding body language. While he couldn't be entirely sure, he thought that the sudden lift of her shoulders and the fact she'd wrapped one arm across her stomach was a defensive posture. As if she were subconsciously preparing herself for the worst.

“No,” he said, and watched her head jerk at that response. He tried a soft smile. “To be honest, I've not thought about London for quite some time.”

Camille didn't answer. She frowned at the sand under her feet, clearly processing this news. Richard understood why she'd asked – it wasn't so long since he'd returned from London, and he'd always been on about it before the short break. Dwayne had confided that she'd been sure he wouldn't return, that he'd stay in England. Thinking back, he realised that there'd been... tensions between them since. She struck him as edgy, which had made him tense and even terse in his interactions with her.

Maybe the unsettled nature of their relationship was the cause of his insomnia. That did make a certain amount of sense. There certainly wasn't anything else bothering him.

“Should I not have come back?”

Her head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Whatever makes you ask that?”

Richard shrugged. “You've been... odd since I did. Like you're angry at me.”

“I'm not angry with you, Richard. Certainly not for coming back.” She put a hand on his arm; the first true contact she'd initiated since his return, and smiled at him. “I'm _happy_ you're back.”

“Then what is the matter? Come on, Camille. I know I'm rubbish at this sort of thing, but even I can tell something's wrong.”

“We weren't talking about me,” she muttered, dropping her hand and turning away. “We were talking about why you couldn't sleep.”

“Well, it's not that I want to go back to London.” Richard shoved his hands in his pockets and scowled at her. Not terribly effective since she wasn't looking in his direction. “I'm not worried about work, or stressed at how many cases we've had. I've ruled out most other causes except maybe a neurological disorder of some sort.”

He paused and watched her for a moment. He still wasn't good at the nuances of body language, especially when she was at keeping it at a minimum to hide her emotions. But the fact she'd locked down meant... something. That much he knew.

“The only thing troubling me is that things are... different. You've been different since I got back.”

“So it's all my fault?”

Her flare of temper was so predictable, he didn't even bother rolling his eyes. “That's not what I said, Camille. No one is at fault here. But you have been treating me differently – you can't deny otherwise.”

She spun around, all indignant rage. But the explosion he braced for didn't come. Instead, she heaved another sigh and sagged. “Perhaps you're right,” she admitted, her voice low. “No, you are. I've tried to be the same, but I just... can't.”

“Why not? Nothing's changed.”

“No, it hasn't, has it? You're still stuck where you don't want to be, still waiting to go back once and for all. You're so selfish!”

Richard blinked at her outburst. Where had all that come from? “Selfish?” he parroted, stuck for a better response.

“Yes! You'll go and then we'll be stuck with some other person. It'll shake up the team and take forever to settle into normality, even if it ever does!” Camille stopped, breathing hard, then shook her head. When she spoke again, her voice was quiet and rough. “You've _no_ idea what you have here.”

He couldn't stop the humourless laugh at that. “No, because I didn't spend years at a station where I was never accepted, where I was the butt of every joke, every prank.” Angry at her accusation, he stormed away from her, though it was hard to stalk when the ground shifted beneath his feet.

How could she think he took his team for granted? Yes, he'd not been happy about the transfer originally, but that had been two years ago! Things had changed. _He_ had changed. And it had never been so noticeable as when he'd gone back to London, to his old station. The starched, proper Englishness of it all had rattled his nerves. The greyness had chilled his bones. There was no life or spirit, just a soul-sucking sameness that he'd been more than happy to leave behind.

Perhaps he should have told her that.

Richard's feet slowed. Then he stopped altogether, a stone's throw from his cabin. He could continue – go inside and shut her out. Or he could turn back and deal with this once and for all. Four weeks ago, he'd have done the former. But he'd no intention of backing down or running away. He spun around and faced her.

“I have absolutely no intention of transferring back to England. I didn't know what I had, Camille. I admit that. But I do now. This place... I've never felt more welcomed, more part of a team. I've never had _friends_. What makes you think I would leave all of that behind?”

“You hate it here,” she argued, though it sounded more like a question.

“I did. And I still hate the heat and I'm not all that keen on the sand, and I doubt I'll ever get used to eating food with eyes.” He forced a smile. “But I don't hate Saint Marie any more, Camille. I haven't for quite some time. It just took a break from it to realise it.”

She approached him as warily as she would a madman with a weapon; one hand slightly raised and her footsteps soft. “So you're saying you'll.... stay?”

“For as long as Commissioner Patterson wants me here, yes.”

Camille caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She wavered a little, then launched herself at him, her arms winding tight about his shoulders. Richard rocked back on his heels, startled at her abrupt embrace. Tentatively, he placed one arm around her waist and, when that didn't result in being yelled at, circled her with the other.

She nestled against him, filling his senses with her warm and vibrant presence. His logical brain logged the feel of her skin, the brush of her breath, the smell of coconut that clung to her hair. Another part noted the way her body curved and how certain parts pressed against him. A deeper part stirred, causing him to cough and pull back before she felt its awakening.

“I gather you're happy with this news,” he ventured with a nervous chuckle.

“Very,” she said. But her grin tempered suddenly and she flushed. “Um.”

“It's okay,” Richard assured her. “I didn't mind.”

“Really?”

“It was rather nice, actually.”

Her smile was shy. “Would you be opposed to a second?”

“I believe my constitution could manage it, yes.”

Camille chuckled and hugged him again. It was looser and briefer, but on the upside it came with a feather-light kiss to his cheek. She stepped back, eyes sparkling in the moonlight. “So you can,” she murmured.

Richard wanted to say... well, there was so many things, he didn't know where to start. Opening his mouth resulted in a horribly wide yawn he only just covered in time. “Sorry! You're not boring me. I'm just...”

“Tired?” she suggested, apparently not insulted by his rude display. “I'm really not surprised.”

Now she'd said it, Richard could feel exhaustion pulling at him. “Yes, I am rather.”

“Then go to bed.”

“I won't be able to sleep.”

Camille gave him a mysterious smile. “You won't know until you try, do you?” She put a hand on his chest, leaned in and kissed his cheek again. “Good night, Richard. Sleep well.”

He watched her walk away. Part of him wanted to call her back, though he'd no idea what more he could say. The other part was content to let things be. They were settled again. More, something fundamental had changed, even if he wasn't sure what that was. He smiled and trudged up the steps to the porch. A flash of green caught his attention.

“What do you think, Harry?” he asked the lizard. It flicked its tongue in reply. “Yeah, I think you're right.”

Richard went inside. He changed into his pyjamas and climbed into bed. His eyelids felt heavy. He let them close. Tension he'd not been aware of slid away into the shadows of the room. He tucked one arm under his pillow, snuggled into the mattress, and let sleep finally claim him.

And ended up having the best night's rest since coming back.


End file.
